


All Was Golden In The Sky

by lipbitelarry



Category: One Direction (Band), Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-17
Updated: 2014-01-17
Packaged: 2018-01-09 01:21:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1139759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipbitelarry/pseuds/lipbitelarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Louis' really glad that he totally /didn't/ get lost and end up in a random garden with actual sunshine/princess and Harry can be compared to  pretty much everything in the sky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Was Golden In The Sky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [erikaxtc](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erikaxtc/gifts).



> erikaxtc asked for a one shot based off of the song When The Day Met The Night - P!ATD and I tried, I really did, but I'm not sure if it even really goes with the song anymore.
> 
> Oh, and it's four in the morning and I've been writing this since twelve, so. There are probably grammatical mistakes that I refuse to correct at this hour. (I'll do it later)
> 
> Feel free to throw pencils at me if it's bad. 
> 
> Let me know if you like it though?

louis is the sun (barely there and sad) 

harry is the moon (radiant but also a bit timid)

——————

The first thing that Louis Tomlinson notices when he awakes is that he feels anxious, excited, and jumpy. Sort of similar to the effects his Vyvanse used to give him. Louis can't remember for the life of him when the last time he woke up feeling less than miserable was. 

He decides that it's an obvious sign. 

This is the day that he's supposed to go out and find something to enjoy in life. Something that isn't his mother, constantly checking up on him, asking — demanding, rather as to why he hasn't been taking her calls, worrying. Everyone always worries. 

That's why he left, well. One reason. That story though, is most definitely one that he doesn't feel like rehashing at this point in his life.

He needs something aside from his cheap ass laptop which he uses frequently for porn— he's a man, he has needs and he refuses to feel guilty for that— as well as tumblr. 

Even though tumblr users may seem high or crazy, they're all really supportive and his mutuals are very, very amazing. They give him reasons to stay, even when he knows that overdosing could be so much easier. Louis figures it's probably sad. His only friends are people who he's never laid eyes on (apart from the occasional selfie that they usually end up deleting.) Louis sort of wonders if maybe he should get some "real life" friends. 

Nah. 

Anyways, yes. Purpose. Today has some kind of purpose unknown to Louis. It feels like a sequined purple entity is haloing around his head, trailing down his spine, leaving goosebumps in it's wake.

That, or it's just another side effect of that pesky lack of sleep and sustenance getting into his head again. 

The small, blue eyed boy leans up to check his alarm clock. Not even 9:20am. Fuck his life. Don't make it enjoyable either. Just punishment for screwing Louis over. 

As he lays his head back down on his not-too-firm-not-too-squishy pillow, Louis feels like maybe, just maybe, the purpose of today can wait for a while so he can attempt to have a peaceful and dreamless sleep. 

——————

His attempts, while valiant, were all in vain. He wakes up not even thirty minutes later, he's kicked off his duvet and he's freezing his bollocks off. 

He's not really even positive as to how that happens because he's wearing a thick sweatshirt along with sweatpants and those are over all the layers of fat that he carries with him. 

Louis sighs, 'ha sleep? What is that foreign concept you speak of?' he thinks. 

He doesn't laugh at his own sarcasm though, he accidentally did that the other day and he had to seriously think about making actual friends because is he /that/ lonely? 

——————

He's trying to make a breakfast that's actually edible and won't give him food poisoning (it's only ever happened three, four times at most) when he feels jumpy again. 

Usually when he feels jumpy it's because his stomach is already upset, thinking about how heavy the calories of the food will weigh, just sitting, turning into more cellulite that Louis does /not/ need. No, he has plenty of that. In fact, he muses, he probably has enough fat just in his arse, to actually create a whole new person. Maybe two. 

This is different though, now, his body is telling him, 'okay, let's go," — which in of itself is weird because usually his body is begging for him to either slow down or take care of himself. 

He takes it as a sign, throwing away what he's sure would've been an awful meal anyways, which, whatever. He's a uni student, (hardly, since that would probably require actually attending classes every now and again, but.) he's pretty sure his species has kind of adapted to living off of booze and all kinds of pot noodles. 

At the though of carbohydrates and sodium, he has to attempt to hold back a vicious shudder. He really doesn't need any extra sodium to make his huge gut appear any larger. 

——————

Even Louis, the cynical shit he is, can admit that the day is simply lovely. It's only around ten in the morning, so all the loud children are locked away at school, the birds are chirping, and he swears, the sky looks legitimately golden. 

Like, golden as in, he can see the sun. No clouds or anything. In England, where it rains more often then not, seeing the full sun, well, it should be documented for history, that. 

He takes a picture with his iPhone camera, close enough to documenting it or whatever. He shrugs and stuffs his phone back in to his pocket as he walks along the pavement. 

——————

Louis does know where he is, he'd swear it on a bible like they do at courts but it just so happens that he doesn't actually carry a bible on him. What a shame, but like, he isn't lost. He's not. He's just finding different places to explore, making them familiar, or something like that. 

He stops when he's in some kind of garden, a really lovely, bright, & well kept one at that. Not even a single rose is crossing over into the bed beside it that holds frangipanis. It makes Louis smile as he takes a moment to bask in the beauty of nature. 

The white and pinkish hues go quite well with the sunny sky as well. He takes another picture because he can. 

Maybe this is a good day, he thinks. 

"Hello," Louis flinches and pivots almost simultaneously because either the voice of his inner thoughts has mysteriously gotten deeper as well as raspier, or— yup. Upon turning to see who was trotting around in this garden, aside from him, he discovers that it is a (real? : to be confirmed) boy, not his subconscious fucking with him again. 

What a relief, well it would be if the boy wasn't so god damn beautiful. 

He's tall, lean, and fair-skinned, pretty much anything anyone could ask for in a perfect husband. Also, he's smiling so largely that Louis is 99.98% his eyes are smiling, too. Or no. Maybe they're just twinkling? But do real people's eyes actually twinkle or sparkle or whatever because Louis thought that was just a myth. 

Just one look into the boy's eyes, where cerulean blue meet a beautiful grassy green with tiny golden flecks, and Louis feels okay. This is what he was looking for when he stepped foot out of his flat this morning. Louis feels like floating so he looks away, taking notice of the the green-eyed boys suede boots, the taller lad may think he's pissed or something if he looks nearly as floaty as he feels inside— though Louis really hopes his clothes don't smell like alcohol. 

The beautiful boy simply radiates positive energy, he makes Louis think of the stunning golden sky that he saw earlier. He almost pulls out his phone to compare but figures it would be creepy of him, so. That plan is ruined, then. 

Louis makes a note to take a picture of the stranger at a later time and compare it to the picture of the sky. He's sure he'll find no differences... well. To be fair, the sky most likely doesn't have dimples that are so deep that Louis kind of wants to cry into them at how pretty this boy is, then proceed to jump in the dimple-pool of his tears and drown. 

There are worse ways to die, definitely. 

"Christ! You scared me half to death!" Louis yells, poking the strangers chest with his forefinger, just so, said stranger, understands exactly how upset he is. He wasn't just looking for an excuse to check to see if he was real or not. That would be downright absurd. 

(Louis secretly high fives himself though because he isn't imagining this. This is actually happening and there's a very fit boy in front of him. A boy whom he just poked!) 

He giggles. He's definitely not a man, he's a boy. A man child at most. Louis, for one, doesn't giggle so maybe he can pretend that he's not totally out of Curly's league. 

"'M really sorry, mate. But, like, people don't usually, erm. Y'know. Come here. To this garden," he speaks slowly and Louis maybe wants to hear his voice when it's sleep soft or when it's sore because he's sick with a cold. Is that weird? "Harry, by the way, and this," he brandishes a neon pink and blue leash which is attached to a large kitten whose fur happens to match the stra- Harry's hair. How did Louis not notice the cat before? 

Oh, right. Because of a boy that was in front of him. Pretty boy. Harry. 

"I'm uh, Louis. Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson. Yeah, I was just walking around— not lost at all. Come 'round here quite often actually— and the flowers kinda piqued my interest I guess. I dunno," as Louis speaks his confidence drips lower and lower because maybe Harry will be less like sunshine and more like the people at Louis' old college. The people that didn't like that he was "too different"

"Really? I love them. frangipanis are deffo my favourite though," Louis lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding in and he actually realises that Harry just said deffo. Like, is he even real? 

"Are you even real?" he asks, because even though this Harry character passed his poke test, he's still pretty sure that no one is allowed to be so radiant. 

"Last time I checked, yes. I am, in fact, real," Harry answers trying to be serious. The effect is ruined because Harry's pressing his lips tightly together until an explosive laugh comes hurtling out, his perfectly pink lips opening like a faulty floodgate. (Louis hates himself. Is he seriously making smilies about the lips of a boy he /just/ met? His subconscious, being the snarky shit it is, replies with a smirk and an 'of course'. Louis hates his subconscious a lot.)

Is it too soon for Louis to ask to record it as his ringtone? 

Probably, yes. Definitely too soon. 

(He'll be polite and wait until Harry isn't paying attention to record it. He's polite like that.)

——————

They spend nearly the whole day together, Louis and Harry. Maybe it's just him, but they get on really well. Like, it's almost weird. 

Harry introduces Louis to his cat, known as Charlie, shares his tea (because apparently Louis had rudely disturbed Harry from a quaint picnic with his cat. 

At one point Louis asks "You seem quite fond of Charlie," he sort of lets the sentence dawdle off until Harry hums his agreement "I'd just like to know if I need to file a report for animal abuse or beasteality," & originally Louis was going to go into obnoxious detail, explaining how, 'Yes, Harry, you're great, but I can't let this go on. For Charlie's sake,' but Harry ends up laughing on of his full body laughs. 

It really should be immensely unattractive, Harry guffawing and snorting, Louis' a bit endeared, if not entirely enchanted by it. 

——————

Louis' in love. He's always been one for being dramatic and making big deals out of nothing, but. Harry. 

HarryHarryHarryHarryHarryHarryHarryHarryHarry. 

Harry who he's spent his whole afternoon and evening with. 

Harry who told him about his wealthy family, his dad apparently invested in Apple's stocks, years before iPods or iPhones were a common household device, and made it big. (When Harry said big, Louis just might have said "huge" to which Harry might have replied with "ginormous" before bursting into a fit of lovely little giggles.) 

Harry told Louis that his parents had pretty much given up on taking care of him, because it was easier for them to try to buy his love. Louis' heart broke a little at that and he made sure to hug the friendly giant tight (he never really let go). 

Louis also learned that Harry's favourite color was blue "Like your eyes, Lou" (He laughed at his little rhyme. What an adorable bastard.), he was a terrible klutz, so he never took up any sports, and he also loved his cat more than anything. 

He's not a Harry expert or anything (He basically is, anyone who disagrees will be beheaded without further trial. Case closed, bring in the dancing lobsters.), but after spending almost a full day with the boy, Louis can tell that under his happy façade, Harry's not really all that happy. 

Something that Louis thinks resembles pure anger, is currently bubbling in his gut. Who could make Harry, someone so, unimaginably perfect, sad? How can they even live with themselves? 

Before he can get himself too worked up about it, Harry lays down on the picnic blanket, dragging Louis with him, and demands that Louis look at the sun because it's setting. Louis almost argues with Harry just because he knows that Harry will pout and it make these lovely little butterflies in his tummy go haywire. 

Something in the expression that Harry's currently wearing stops Louis from doing that though. Harry looks sad. 

The sappy bastard is crying because the sun is setting. Louis should hate him. Make fun of him maybe because things like pretty boys who cry at sunsets, those just don't happen. That's it. Harry's a robot. He was designed to bring his eventual downfall. 

But, a robot can't look so sad. It's definitely real, as much as Louis wishes it weren't so, he now has a boy that he's pretty sure he's in love with, crying on his shoulder. Over a sunset. 

Louis doesn't know how to properly explain what it feels like to watch Harry's face crumple and not know how to fix it. All the older lad knows is that he refuses to let Harry cry a single tear, not under his watch— not /ever/ ideally, but Louis thinks that that may actually be impossible. 

He needs to google that, he thinks. 

It's not like that matters though, not when fragile baby Harry just let out the most heartbreaking whimper and Louis can't. 

He can't see Harry cry. As clichéd as it sounds, it hurts him to have to see Harry cry, worse even, than it hurts Harry to be the person who's crying. 

"Harry," he soothingly rubs Harry's back. Just trying to relieve the tension and calm him down, it seems to be working because Harry's stuttered gasps turn into uneven breaths, which. Like, that's not ideal either but really every breath that Harry takes is good enough for Louis. 

Fuck, Louis is really gone for this curly haired imbecile. 

"I-I'm so-rry," and, what?

"Why are you apologizing, babe?" Louis asks gently, because he thinks that telling Harry to stop being sorry because that's dumb, just wouldn't be appropriate at this point in time. 

Later, maybe. 

Harry hiccups a few times before he can properly answer "C-cryin'," maybe that's not a proper answer but he's trying his best and he looks like Charlie did earlier. 

They had decided it would be funny to terrorize the poor thing with sticks, Louis figures that if Charlie was as cute as Harry is, maybe he would have felt a bit of remorse. He doesn't. 

Harry is probably the most precious thing in the world. Here he is, almost completely in Louis' lap, wide eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears, apologizing. He's such a wonderful idiot that Louis wants to kiss him. 

"Harry, can we, like. Do you wanna maybe, erm— I know you're upset, but maybe this will cheer you up? That sounds cocky, fuck. It's just—I've had a lot of fun today and—" Louis doesn't /do/ afraid. Well, he does, but if his behaviour today was any example, he doesn't do afraid around Harry. Harry's safe. Harry's lovely. "Can I please take you on a date? I've had a lot of fun today and you're just so, so lovely. So unique in the most perfect fashion possible. You don't have to say yes just to be nice or anything, so..." he trails off, scratching the back of his neck while Harry just stares at him with those stupid saucer-like eyes. 

Harry Styles is going to to the death of him, of that is he absolutely positive. 

In lieu of actually properly answering, Harry jumps the rest of the way onto Louis' lap, straddling his thighs as he forces Louis' mouth to mould to the shape of his own and it's. Wow. 

Harry's full lips slot right in place with Louis' thin lips, it feels absolutely divine. Louis briefly flits through the thought that maybe he was actually born to kiss this ball of sunshine disguised as a beautiful, young boy. The kiss is— it's passionate, and Louis was really okay with keeping things simple but he feels Harry's pointed tongue licking at his lips. It would honestly be just plain rude to deny him that access. 

Harry's tongue starts licking into Louis' mouth at the same time that Harry palms his crotch. 

Oh. 

Louis really can't say no to that. Not when Harry has such large hands. 

 

——————

When Harry's given Louis a grade a hand job, Louis ends up returning the favour with a blow job. He'd never heard noise more beautiful than the moans that Harry made as he tried not to thrust up into Louis' mouth. 

They're both trying to calm down, wait for a bit until their adrenaline stops pumping, Harry's laying down, smiling fondly at the boy who randomly walked into his gardens. Harry has always been a big believer in fate. 

"Can you make me a promise, Lou?"

"Anything,"

"Please just, don't break my heart and leave me all alone," he feels pathetic saying it but Harry just really needs the reassurance. Needs to know that Louis wants more from this. 

"I couldn't even if I tried," Louis whispers, "Harry, I don't know about you," he pauses, quickly making sure he really wants to say this, because it implies a lot. 

All of his doubt seems to evaporate into the now, slightly chilly night air when Harry presses a kiss to the top of his head as if to say 'go on, it's okay, babe,' and follows it up by carding his fingers through Louis', probably disgusting, hair.

"I definitely believe in love at first sight," he sucks in a breath "and like, I didn't come out today to find love, I came to find something— or someone — to make me happy. I got both, I suppose," Louis feels whole now. With Harry, he feels like he could fly or do every drug in the world without either dying or going into a coma. With Harry, he feels like he's a little bit in love with a bad-joke telling, curly-haired, beautiful boy. 

It's a good feeling.


End file.
